


hang out fall in love

by carafin



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Medical, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-30 21:49:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5180954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carafin/pseuds/carafin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Hanamaki's humble medical practice is threatened by <s>an intractable asshole</s> a witch doctor who's just moved into the shop down the street. Medical/Witchcraft AU.</p><blockquote>
  <p><br/>As far as Hanamaki’s concerned, and as far as bad life decisions go, setting up your<i> witch clinic</i> right next to an actual, proper, medical clinic is practically akin to setting up an all-you-can-eat buffet right next to a gym. Or a sex toy shop next to a church. Or a vegetable patch next to a goat farm. Or – yeah, the point is, this Matsukawa guy has totally cornered the market in Terrible-Life-Decision-Making-Skills.</p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	hang out fall in love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wafflesquire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wafflesquire/gifts).



> first of all, a small warning: this fic contains a (very, very mild) childbirth scene!!! there are absolutely no descriptions/ gore involved, but if this'll squick you nonetheless, please turn away now!
> 
> dear viv,
> 
> thank you for always being such a great friend/ reading and commenting on my fic/ sending me adorable snapchats in my times of need... i can only hope to properly return the favour some day ;;
> 
> also a shoutout to san (tookumade) for being a constant source of inspiration re: anything matsuhana, and for being there for me on those nights i crawled to her in wild panic, asking for help regarding the fic,, ha ha,,,,,

Hanamaki’s making his way home from his clinic when he sees _it_ for the first time.

He blinks. Takes a deep breath. Tells himself, ‘Okay, Takahiro, it’s all the stress from work, don’t panic, this is definitely a hallucination.’ Shuts his eyes, counts very slowly from one to ten, before he opens them. It doesn’t seem to work, so he shuts his eyes again - this time, he runs his head through the first to the tenth most common pneumonia-causing bacteria, a handy trick that’s saved him from blowing his top at unreasonable patients for… well, for sufficient times to not get sued since the beginning of his medical career. Opens his eyes again.

 _It_ is still there.

‘What the fuck,’ Hanamaki says very loudly, to the alarm of a tiny sparrow perched atop the lamppost next to him. It flies away in a hurry, but Hanamaki doesn’t even notice it because - because - his favourite coffee shop seems to have closed down; the old sign above the shop (“Moniwa’s Cream Puff Bakery”) has been torn down, and in its place is a (very offensive, very tasteless) sign that says:

 **MATSUKAWA-SENSEI’S WITCH CLINIC**  


Underneath the sign is a piece of paper that’s been stuck to the doors of the shop:

**COMING TO TOWN SOON**

The truth is that Hanamaki’s usually a very reasonable, very mature, very _adultish_ man. But he’s also certain that any reasonableness or maturity or adultness would inevitably be lost on a _witch doctor_ (of all things! Hanamaki’s quite accepting towards alternative forms of medicine, like homeopathy, or acupuncture, or herbal medicine, but a witch doctor is just… just… just _no_ ) who’s decided set up a _witch_ _clinic_. Two blocks down the street. _Right next to Hanamaki’s_ _medical practice_. As far as Hanamaki’s concerned, and as far as bad life decisions go, setting up your witch clinic right next to an actual, proper, medical clinic is practically akin to setting up an all-you-can-eat buffet right next to a gym. Or a sex toy shop next to a church. Or a vegetable patch next to a goat farm. Or - yeah, the point is, this _Matsukawa_ guy has totally cornered the market in Terrible-Life-Decision-Making-Skills.

Hanamaki picks up a tiny pebble (or, maybe, a rock the size of a lemon, Hanamaki can’t really tell from the anger thrumming in his head) from the roadside, hurls it at the stupid sign, and feels a strange sense of satisfaction (tinged with the slightest bit of shame, because surely he was brought up to be a bigger man than this) as it hits the stupid sign and knocks it very slightly crooked with a satisfying _clunk_. _That’ll_ show them.

There’s a quiet swooshing noise as the sign glows a faint blue, before righting itself back to its original position _. Of course_ , Hanamaki thinks faintly. The sign’s probably been bewitched by the owner, in case somebody tampers with it. _Fucking witches and their fucking paranoia._

And this is how Hanamaki makes his way home, on a Monday night, with what seems like the worst headache of his life.

 

 

The torture, of course, doesn’t end here. The _actual_ worst headache of Hanamaki’s life happens the next day, when he crawls to work after barely two hours of sleep (because he spent the entire night fantasising about the most creative and effective ways to burn the _Matsukawa’s Witch Clinic_ down without getting hexed to death and/or jailed for arson), with a strained shoulder (from when he threw the pebble at the signage) and devoid of his usual breakfast of cream puffs and ventisized coffee (because, of course, the coffee shop has been torn down to make way for _Matsukawa’s Witch Clinic_. God, he even hates the gaudy name of the clinic. Who the hell still names their clinic after themselves?! Hanamaki’s willing to bet good money that the Matsukawa guy’s probably some intractable narcissist.)

The point is - every current problem in Hanamaki’s life can be attributed to the stupid witch clinic, and it _hasn’t even opened yet_.

‘I’m going to close down our clinic,’ Hanamaki tells Yuda, his trusted nurse-cum-receptionist-cum-best-friend-cum-part-time-shrink (a fact that Yuda reminds him on a daily basis, i.e. ‘ _you would_ die _without my help, Makki! You would_ die _!’_ ), as they prepare to open the clinic for the day. ‘And become a barefoot doctor. I’ll roam the rural villages of Japan and heal the sick with prudent prescriptions of wild fungi and rare herbs. People will build bridges and village wells in my name. I’ll be a national hero.’

‘Pass me the case file, won’t you?’ Says Yuda.

Hanamaki complies, although with admittedly ill grace. ‘What would I do without an understanding, attentive friend like you -'

‘You’re just _whining_ because of the new clinic down the street,’ Yuda points out in a disgustingly reasonable voice, while juggling five files in his arms and shuffling from one end of the (very cramped) consultation room to the other.

‘You saw it, too?’ At the mention of the witch clinic, Hanamaki sees red again. ‘The nerve of him, setting up his clinic next to mine! _Witch medicine_ , of all things! You know they give slug juice to cure pneumonia, Yuda, _slug juice_ , not antibiotics, and charms for cold prevention, instead of vaccinations, and -’

Yuda gives Hanamaki a pointed _Look_. If looks could say ‘ _underneath your rage I am certain that your outburst of emotion is probably due to a misplaced attempt at dealing with your repressed, moderately traumatic childhood memory of being the only non-magical child in a family of renowned magicians, and the resultant deep-seated dislike towards people who know magic’_ , Yuda’s glare would be _it_. Sometimes Hanamaki _hates_ that they’re childhood friends who’ve been together since they were in nappies.

‘Suck it up, Makki,’ Yuda tells him, wrestling with the files as he tries to stuff them into a bursting cabinet. ‘Go take a walk in the park! Feed some baby ducks! Or eat icecream or something. Just don’t deal with it by bullying innocent signs -’

Hanamaki bristles. ‘Did you see that bewitched sign? It glowed at me, Yuda, literally _glowed_ in my face like a smug -’ Hanamaki’s selfrighteous tirade is abruptly cut off by someone rapping at their door. Yuda drops a file on the floor in surprise.

‘That’s strange,’ Yuda says, almost tripping over a stray file as he walks over to the door. ‘The first patient isn’t due for half an hour…’

He opens the door to reveal a tall young man standing at his doorway, holding what seems like a bouquet of… cactus.

‘Hello,’ the young man says politely, right as Hanamaki tells him, ‘Uh, consultations only start at nine.’

‘I’m not here for a consultation,’ the young man says. He laughs, and runs his hands through his absurd, gravity defying mob of black hair. ‘I just moved to this area, so, I thought it would be nice to say hi.’

Hanamaki has a bad, terrible, no-good feeling about this. ‘You just moved to this area?’

‘Yeah!’ The man smiles, and jerks his thumb towards the general direction of the street. ‘I run the new witch clinic down the road. Thought I’d drop by, seeing that we’re probably going to be sharing patients, since everyone’s so into _holistic_ medicine nowadays. Anyway, my name is -'

‘You’re the witch doctor,’ Hanamaki says, faintly, as Yuda lets out a sudden cough in a poor attempt at muffling what must be amused laughter.

‘That’s right,’ the man says, grinning. ‘I was walking by your clinic this morning and I thought I felt this strange, negative energy in the air - did you guys attract a bunch of vengeful ghouls recently, or what? - so I charmed a bunch of cactus, they should protect you from -'

Hanamaki responds by slamming the door in the stranger’s face.

 

 

Matsukawa Issei.

His name is Matsukawa Issei. Hanamaki knows this because, over the next few days, _every. Single. One_. Of his clients cannot seem to shut up about him.

‘I dropped by his clinic because I had some time before your consultation, and he gave me this funky smelling nasal spray for my asthma and runny nose,’ Watari - a longtime client - tells Hanamaki. ‘I think it was made of cat pee, or something? Anyway, it cleared up my nose really well, and he told me to use it alongside my inhaler the next time I get an asthma attack.’

‘You can’t mix and match your medications like that,’ Hanamaki says, aghast and positively _scandalised_. This isn’t even a _personal_ issue anymore - how dare Matsukawa suggest mixing something like his inhaler formula - the product of many, many years of rigorous scientific research and intense clinical trials, based on nothing but solid empirical evidence and backed by logical scientific reasoning - with some hokus pokus like _cat pee_. ‘Think about side effects and contraindications and - ‘

‘I know,’ Watari tells him, cheerfully. ‘Which is why I rescheduled a second appointment with him, and he’s gonna review the medicine’s effectiveness the next time we meet. He’s such a nice guy, told me I could get my second consultation at half price…’ He pauses. ‘Are you… are you _vibrating_ , doctor?’

 

 

‘He’s been giving everyone free first consultations,’ Hanamaki’s other longtime client, Oikawa Tooru tells him cheerfully. Hanamaki’s pretty fond of Oikawa, even if he does have a terrible history of defaulting his appointments, never complies with Hanamaki’s strict instructions to ‘rest your knee so you can stop straining it’, and often has to be manually hauled by his friend, Iwaizumi, to the clinic. Today, however, he is seized by a strange desire to wring the other man’s neck. ‘He took a look at my knee and stung it with this weird lizard-creature thing and, well, I guess it hurt a little but - '

‘You made so much noise, the lady waiting outside asked me if my wife was in labour,’ Iwaizumi interjects.

‘ it hurt a _little bit_ ,’ Oikawa repeats loudly, while manfully ignoring Iwaizumi’s comment, ‘but my knee feels _amazing_ now, and he gave me this weird gel that’s made from toad intestines or something and it looks and smells like baby shit but apparently it’s going to help, he told me it’ll go really well with the physiotherapy exercises you’ve been telling me to do - ‘

‘ _Is it_.’

‘Are - are you okay, doctor? Your face looks a little… purple.’

‘I’m fine,’ Hanamaki says, his words coming out in a strangled, constipated voice. ‘Fine!’

Unsurprisingly, nobody is convinced. After a few obnoxiously loud and vaguely threatening throat clearing noises coming from Yuda’s general direction, the rest of the consultation passes by uneventfully, thankfully devoid of any reference to witch doctors and toads and ridiculous spells, although Hanamaki could later be seen shaking his fist angrily towards the general direction of a certain witch clinic during their lunch break two hours later.

 

 

Predictably, by the time the next week rolls by, Hanamaki is one mere mention of ‘Matsukawa-sensei’ away from developing a severe allergic reaction of full-blown hives. And so, come Wednesday morning, when he opens his door to Matsukawa standing at the entrance to his clinic, his first instinct is to slam it right back into the asshole’s face. Unfortunately, Matsukawa’s reflexes are even quicker; he reaches his arms out, and the two of them engage in a brief tussle over the control of the door, while the patient in the room stares on in astonished silence.

‘I’ve got eleven patients waiting to see me, and my nurse is on leave today,’ Hanamaki manages to grit out, ‘I’m not free for a _friendly chitchat_.’

‘There’s this pregnant lady,’ Matsukawa cuts in, in a strangled voice, words practically tripping over each other, and it’s only then that Hanamaki notices his frenzied expression, and his widened, horrified eyes. Hanamaki tries to squirm away, but Matsukawa’s fingers are digging into his arms and Matsukawa’s face is - is kind of close to his. Like, _really_ close. ‘She came in demanding that I do tarot card reading for her baby, right, and I had to tell her that I’m a witch doctor, not some fortune teller, but she wouldn’t listen, and then halfway through the whole fiasco she started making this weird noise and then she was like, ‘My water's burst’, and now she says she’s screaming something about... about _contraptions_  -’

‘You mean contractions -’

‘- about contractions, and I don’t know what that means, is the baby contracting, do babies even contract? You’ve got to help me, this is such a disaster, I’ve called the ambulance but the nearest hospital with an obstetrics department is in the next city and they’re not gonna reach here for an hour, I can’t believe I’ve only been here for three weeks and _I’ve already killed a baby_  - ’

Matsukawa blabbers on, looking so distraught that Hanamaki temporarily forgets that 1. Matsukawa’s supposed to be The (bolded, underlined, fontsize one hundred) Evil Competition and 2. he has never actually delivered a baby before, either.

‘Nothing’s going to happen to the baby,’ Hanamaki says, grabbing Matsukawa by the wrists. ‘Nothing’s going to happen to it, alright? Nobody’s killing anybody.’

Matsukawa freezes up for a moment, but then his eyes clears a little, and he nods.

‘Right,’ Hanamaki says, after a moment. ‘The baby -’

They sprint down the road to Matsukawa’s clinic, where a pregnant lady is lying on the floor, alternately gasping loudly and making unearthly shrieking noises. Next to her, a man - presumably her husband - is holding her hands, although between the two of them he looks far more likely to pass out any time soon.

‘Do you have any experience in this?’ Matsukawa whispers to Hanamaki, as they freeze temporarily at the doorway.

Hanamaki thinks back to his medical school days, where he’d tried to help out in labour wards during his obstetrics rotation, only to always get pushed to a tiny corner of the room by flustered doctors and hysterical family members; the only takeaways from those sessions had been profound ear damage, nappy changing skills, and also a deep sense of respect for women who, as Hanamaki was quick to realise, as admirable as they were fucking terrifying. Hanamaki’s first and only hands on experience was during a home birth, involving a family member, Kimi-chan. It was a tedious and gruelling affair that lasted all of three hours - Hanamaki had gotten his hands soiled, almost fainted from sheer terror, and screamed his lungs out. It was worth it in the end, however, when Kimi-chan had let out a sharp meow and given birth to three healthy, adorable kittens -

Now might be a good time to mention that Kimi-chan was, in fact, a cat.

‘I’ve had some experience,’ Hanamaki says, vaguely, after a very long pause.

‘So,’ Matsukawa says, as the two of them remain frozen at the doorway. ‘After you.’

Hanamaki exhales sharply, and takes a step forward. Fuck everything.

 

 

It’s a girl.

It’s a healthy, pink girl with a scrunched up little face and wrinkly little toes and also a scream that Hanamaki privately thinks is vaguely reminiscent of a pterodactyl getting sawed into two. For a moment Hanamaki freaks out because they don’t have an incubator to keep the baby warm, but Matsukawa runs to a mini-oven, mutters a few unintelligible charms under his breath, and turns it into a makeshift incubator. Hanamaki’s  _almost_ impressed.

‘My wife and I are very grateful,’ Husband-san walks up to them and says tearfully. ‘We’d love it if both of you could become the godfathers to little Miya-chan.’

‘Uh,’ Hanamaki says, but Matsukawa extends an arm and has the gall to drape it across Hanamaki’s shoulder.

‘We’d love it,’ Matsukawa says, grinning, and it is testament to how tired Hanamaki is that he doesn’t shrug the arm away.

 

 

The thing is, there are a few things you can’t do with someone without developing a strange sense of comradeship after it all, and Hanamaki’s sure that ‘delivering a baby together despite having a combined experience amounting to approximately zero’ ranks _pretty_ high up on the list. So does ‘being co-godfathers to a baby you delivered together despite having a combined experience amounting to approximately zero’.

So, yeah. Things start to get pretty weird after that, because Matsukawa starts to act like the two of them are _friends_ , or something. Which is patently absurd, because the fact that they delivered the baby doesn’t have to mean anything, and as far as Hanamaki’s concerned, the only concession he’s willing to make is to stop throwing rocks at/ shaking angry fists at Matsukawa’s sign board.

At least that’s what Hanamaki tells himself as he stares at the five-leaf clover charm in his hands, and a note that says “for good luck!!!! - Mattsun”, before standing up and throwing it into the wastepaper bin next to his desk in abject horror; he can’t be _fraternising_ with the enemy like that. Then he thinks better of it, walks back to the bin, digs around for the charm and the note, and puts it back onto the table. He’s about to stand up and throw everything into the bin again when Yuda makes a disbelieving noise from across the table.

‘Will you _stop_ that, it’s driving me mad,’ Yuda says, looking slightly crazed. ‘You’ve been doing it for the past _hour_.’

‘He’s been giving me all these weird charms since last week, what the hell am I supposed to do with them,’ Hanamaki says, exasperatedly. ‘There’s the rain charm on Thursday -’

‘Why do you think we haven’t had our clinic flooded this week,’ Yuda shoots back, which, okay, isn’t completely unfounded, because it’s the monsoon season and their rundown clinic is often the victim of serious flooding episodes but that’s _definitely a coincidence and therefore beside the point_ -

‘- and then! The sleeping charm -’

‘Which was fantastic! Do you know how many screaming babies that thing has saved us from?’

‘- and then now this!’ Hanamaki says, gesturing wildly at the five-leaf clover. ‘What the hell am I supposed to do with _this_? I can’t keep this! What if he thinks I want to be his - his _friend_ , or something?’

‘I’d go with the something,’ Yuda shoots back, ‘if _something_ means _prissy, ungrateful asshole_. Honestly, if this weird cat-and-mouse courtship thing doesn’t end soon I’m going to _euthanise_ myself.’

‘Wait, what?’ Hanamaki says, and winces a little at the highpitched, slightly unhinged tone of his voice. ‘What did you just say?’

‘I just called you a prissy, ungrateful asshole -’

‘No! The other part! The part about the courtship!’

Yuda looks like he’s two seconds away from popping a major blood vessel. ‘Are you kidding? I spent two summers rearing cows with my grand uncle, and let me tell you, I’ve seen less sexual tension coming from a herd of cows during mating season -’

‘What, no,’ Hanamaki says, mostly on principle. Now would not be a good time to mention that he’d actually _tried_ thanking Matsukawa for his charms (because he’s a very cultured and polite gentleman who knows how to say his Thank Yous, is all), only to hover at the entrance of Matsukawa’s clinic for a good thirty minutes and diving into the nearest bush when Matsukawa did make his way out eventually.

So. _Totally_ not doing the cat-and-mouse courtship thing. Right.

Yuda opens his mouth, possibly about to launch into another tirade that will doubtlessly send Hanamaki’s flimsy arguments running to the mountain ranges, when Hanamaki spots a familiar figure trudging towards their clinic.

‘Oh, my god,’ Hanamaki says without thinking, and makes a dive under the table.

 _Tell him I’m not here_ , he mouths to Yuda, who looks at him in disbelief and mouths back _what the fuck, dude?_

Someone raps on the door.

‘Hello?’ As expected, it’s Matsukawa’s voice. ‘It’s Matsukawa here.’

Hanamaki can hear Yuda rolling his eyes; honestly, he can literally _hear_ it from under the table, with vague undertones of ‘what-the-fuck-Hanamaki’ and also ‘I-don’t-get-paid-enough-for-this-shit-Hanamaki’. There’s a click as the door opens. ‘Hey, Matsukawa.’

‘Hi, Yuda.’ Matsukawa says, sounding oddly hopeful. ‘Is Dr. Hanamaki around?’

There’s a pause.

‘He’s, uh, gone home already,’ Yuda says, but the guilt in his voice is evident even from underneath the table, where Hanamaki is sitting; Yuda is constitutionally incapable of lying.

There’s a second pause.

‘Well,’ Matsukawa says, eventually. His voice is still pleasantly level, but years of doctoring has trained Hanamaki to pick up on even the subtlest of emotions, and right then he knows - for whatever bizarre, unknown, incomprehensible reason, Matsukawa is _disappointed_. ‘Tell him I dropped by to say hi, then. Good night.’

‘Right,’ Yuda chirps, a little too brightly. ‘Goodnight!’

It’s too much for Hanamaki. Matsukawa might be a shameless quack doctor, but Hanamaki isn’t better off for hiding away under tables and making his friends tell lies on his behalf either. And if he’s being honest to himself, he knows he’s being unfair to Matsukawa, knows he’s being a difficult little bastard to a new guy who’s only just moved into town. Hanamaki’s a guy with… some  _issues_ , but there’s no reason to implicate others in them. Before he can talk himself out of it, Hanamaki springs up from his crouched position under the table, mind running through excuses ranging from ‘oh… I was taking a nap… yes… under the table’ to ‘what do you _mean_ people don’t sit under tables for fun?’ but tragically misgauges his position and ends up slamming the top of his head against the wooden surface. _Hard_.

Yuda jumps. Matsukawa, who was about to close the door, swivels around sharply to stare at him, alarmed.

‘…Uh, sorry, I was, uh, I was trying to find something on the floor,’ Hanamaki says as he stands up, or thinks he says, because everything’s spinning a little and there are fucking stars orbiting in his vision. He rests a palm on the table to steady himself, hoping to go for the Effortlessly Cool and Casual look, but it is a thought that would require a certain degree of self delusion that Hanamaki is frankly incapable of. In fact, if he is to be honest with himself, he’s probably a strong contender of the ‘I may have overdosed on alcohol’ look, or the ‘deeply disoriented head trauma victim’ look. ‘Were you looking for me?’

‘Yeah,’ Matsukawa says, and even through his shitty vision Hanamaki can make out the slight curve of his mouth, the amusement in his eyes, and - oh. Dimples. Matsukawa has dimples. ‘It’s just - uh - Miya-chan’s parents just called me, they’re holding a party for the baby and they asked if we’d like to attend it. As godfathers.’

Somewhere amidst the recesses of his (very shaken, very disoriented) mind, Hanamaki registers that Matsukawa may have just posed him a question, even if he cannot for the life of him comprehend or process it.

‘Uh,’ Hanamaki says, his desire to not sound stupid unfortunately outweighing his common sense. ‘Uh, yes? I mean, yes. Yeah. Whatever.’

‘Great!’ Matsukawa says, ‘I’ll come find you at your clinic at seven p.m. tomorrow, then.’

By the time Hanamaki realises the extent to which he has fucked himself up royally and beyond belief, Matsukawa is already out the door.

 

 

The next few moments are spent in silence (Yuda) and stunned shock (Hanamaki).

‘I can’t believe I said _yes_.’

‘Well, Makki,’ Yuda says, in a manner Hanamaki thinks is _extremely_ insincere, ‘just go hang out with him tomorrow, there’s nothing to lose.’

‘You should’ve stopped me! Why didn’t you stop me? Why didn’t you tackle me onto the ground and say _, I’m sorry, Matsukawa-san, but the impact of the head injury seems to have knocked him out, it’s too bad, I guess he’s going to have to decline you_?’

Yuda shoots him a _look_. ‘Because I don’t want to get jailed for grievous bodily harm? Because Matsukawa’s actually a nice guy who deserves to be treated with basic human decency? Because underneath everything I’m pretty sure you actually _want_ to do this?’

Hanamaki opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. Repeats the cycle a few times, before realising that there’s nothing he can say which will save him from his unfortunate predicament.

‘I’m going to have to do this _making friends_ thing, don’t I,’ Hanamaki says miserably, as he slinks into his chair.

‘Three weeks overdue,’ Yuda hums smugly, and does not look up from his book.

 

 

As planned, Yuda saunters out of the clinic at 6.45 p.m. sharp the next day, after cheerfully wishing Hanamaki a good date while manfully ignoring Hanamaki’s dramatic groaning noises and accompanying yells of ‘what the fuck, Yuda, this is not a date, I repeat this is not a date!’ Hanamaki spends the remaining fifteen minutes alternately moping around, trying to devise alternative escape routes from the clinic, trying to neaten himself up in front of the mirror, and telling himself off for neatening up because, for fuck’s sake, this is _obviously not a date_. Hanamaki, who grew up believing in Science and logic and things like the atomic number of lithium, would _never_ date a _witch_ doctor. He’s had it with sympathetic looks thrown at him from people who know magic back at home, looks at condemned as much as they alienated.

At least, this is what he tells himself when he opens the door to Matsukawa, who - in stark contrast to Hanamaki, whose attempts at tucking and untucking and neatening and un-neatening his shirt has led to an extremely dishevelled appearance - has very obviously bothered to dress himself up for the… _not-_ date.

‘Hey,’ Matsukawa says, and grins. ‘Rough day? Thanks for agreeing to this, anyway.’

I _didn’t agree to this! My shitty pride did!_ A small hysterical voice at the back of Hanamaki is screaming, but he forces himself to wear a shit-eating grin and say, ‘well, yeah, busy day, I had _lots_ of patients.’

‘Of course,’ Matsukawa says, pleasantly, refusing to take the bait. ‘Is it like this every day? It must be hard.’

‘Well,’ Hanamaki says, for the lack of a better response. ‘Anyway, where’s the baby shower supposed to be?’

‘In my clinic,’ Matsukawa says.

‘Your _clinic_ ,’ Hanamaki echoes.

‘I offered. They mentioned that their house was really small, and anyway they did have the baby in my clinic,’ Matsukawa says with a cheeky grin. ‘Plus, it’s good advertisement,’ he adds, looking obviously pleased with himself.

Hanamaki makes a disbelieving noise. ‘I can’t believe this is how I’m going to lose all my patients -’

Matsukawa stares at him for a moment, and then he starts to laugh.

‘What is it,’ Hanamaki says, nonplussed.

‘I can’t believe you think I - I can’t believe you think I’m going to steal your patients away,’ Matsukawa says, sounding genuinely amused. ‘You know that’s not possible, right? Everyone here loves you, there’s no way - I can’t believe you’d even think about - ‘

‘What are you talking about,’ Hanamaki says, unable to help himself.

‘The townspeople told me,’ Matsukawa tells him, earnestly. ‘About how you’d always charge peanuts so everyone gets access to medical care, and how you’d regularly make home visits to people who can’t come to your clinic, and how everyone’s really indebted to you, and things like that. Everyone respects you a lot. There’s no way they’d stop seeing you because of _me_.’

‘Oh,’ Hanamaki says, unsure as to what to respond. Is his face burning? His face is obviously burning. He feels like dying. ‘Anyway, uh, right, I gotta - lemme go find Miya-chan’s present, I’m sure I kept it in one of my drawers ’

Matsukawa’s not here to steal his clients. In fact, _Matsukawa looks up to him as a doctor_. It shouldn’t make Hanamaki as happy as he feels right now, but it _does_. Hanamaki’s still biting back a smile as he fishes around and produces a pamphlet and a children’s storybook from the depths of his drawers.

‘Are those your presents?’ Matsukawa says as he eyes the pamphlet (titled: **Routine Childhood Vaccines For Children Aged 0 To 12** ) and storybook (titled: **Prince Genji Fights A Germ** ) incredulously.

‘Tell me free vaccination up till the age of twelve isn’t every kid’s greatest dream,’ Hanamaki tells Matsukawa. ‘All sixteen jabs, the full works. Go on, I dare you to look me in the eye and say it like you believe it.’

‘No, no, of course not.’ Matsukawa bursts out laughing, and Hanamaki’s stomach drops, drops, drops. ‘Although I’m pretty sure we all know who the kid’s favourite godfather’s going to be. Shall we make a move?’

 

 

The party is already in full swing when they make their way to Matsukawa’s clinic-turned-into-a-funciton-room. The place has been decorated beautifully; the ceiling has been draped with colourful streamers that magically change colours every few seconds, and there are shapeshifting balloons bobbing their way through the crowd. Half the town seems to be present; everyone claps and whoops as they enter, like they’re goddamn heroes coming back from the war, and Hanamaki’s full of shit if he says that he doesn’t feel  _a little_  flattered by the attention.

‘Thank you, everyone,’ Hanamaki tells the crowd, when they’ve finally quietened down enough for Hanamaki to hear himself speak. He’s ridiculously nervous and blushing madly but also kind of proud. ‘I can only hope that Miya-chan grows up to be a healthy, lovely, and... uh…’

‘Well-vaccinated,’ Matsukawa offers.

‘…and well-vaccinated young lady!’ Hanamaki finishes brightly, to the baffled crowd. ‘Now, shall we go on with the party?’

The rest of the party passes by in a haze; Matsukawa spends most of the time making new friends and Hanamaki meets up with old ones, while trying to pretend that he's not hovering embarrassingly close to the plate of cream puffs laid out on the table half the time.

‘You know, everyone here seems to have a friend or relative who’s been treated by you before,’ Matsukawa says, when they finally manage to catch a breather from the enthusiastic townsfolk who are oddly insistent on shoving cake into their faces. ‘Have you ever had to pay for a meal in town?’

Hanamaki thinks for a moment. ‘No,’ he says eventually. ‘I can’t actually remember the last time I paid for food.’

‘Figures.’ Matsukawa laughs. ‘Hey, I think I’ve got a problem here. Care to solve it for me?’

Hanamaki’s in a ridiculously good mood today, so he takes a sip of punch and grins. ‘Yeah?’

Matsukawa clears his throat. ‘So, uh, recently my heart’s been beating really fast? And there’s this insistent, churning, sensation in my stomach, and… my toes tingle.’

‘So… tachycardia and palpitations… and gastritis… and tingling toes…’ Hanamaki frowns, trying to make sense of the confusing constellation of signs.

‘Right,’ Matsukawa says, and Hanamaki’s not sure if it’s just a trick of the light but he thinks that Matsukawa may be _blushing_. ‘Yeah? And I noticed that, uh, these things usually only happen when I’m uh, around certain, select people? Actually, no, it only happens when I’m around, well, this one guy, oh my god, this sounded a lot better in my head, this was supposed to be smooth, also I need to stop taking love advice from Oikawa, also I think I’m going to stop talking.’

He stares at Hanamaki, breathless.

‘I, uh,’ Hanamaki begins, and stops to recollect his thoughts and his words because Matsuakwa looks like his heart is two seconds away from crapping out on him. And then he thinks, _screw it_ , and then he’s leaning forward and pressing his lips on Matsukawa’s, and then everything else blurs away, except for the warm breath against his face and the taste of cake and sugar on his lips and -

‘Not in front of the kids!’ A lady shrieks, and Hanamaki pulls away, half-stunned, half-euphoric. Next to him, Matsukawa’s facial expression looks like the physical embodiment of “my soul has ascended to a higher astral plane also I would like to be buried overlooking the sea”, and he’s about to open his mouth to speak when a cupcake sails through the air and lands squarely on his face.

Hanamaki turns, very slowly, to look at the source of the cupcake, and sees a smug looking Oikawa Tooru.

‘Both of you totally owe me one!’ Oikawa’s shouting gleefully. ‘Especially you, Matsukawa, told you it would work -’ His sentence is cut away abruptly by a mortified looking Iwaizumi, who emerges from a crowd to clamp his hand onto Oikawa’s mouth.

‘We’re very sorry,’ Iwaizumi begins, deeply apologetic, but there’s a flash of movement as Matsukawa grabs a cream puff and flings it and - well. 

Everything goes to hell, after that.

 

 

‘I can’t believe this,’ Hanamaki says, when the party’s over and he and Matsukawa are the only ones left in the clinic, mopping up every last crumb with dirty dishrags and a broom. ‘What happened to your la-di-da magic? What happened to clapping your hands and _abracadabra_ and everything returning to their original positions?’

Next to him, Matsukawa looks disgustingly cheerful for someone who’s just had his clinic pulverised by fifty enthusiastic townspeople and two hundred tonnes of cake icing. ‘I could do that If I want to,’ he hums. ‘But where’s the fun in that?’

Hanamaki drops the dishrag in his hand. ‘Use your magic!’ he shrieks.

‘Make me,’ Matsukawa says, laughing, which is all the incentive Hanamaki needs - he’s pathetic, really - to fling himself onto Matsukawa and hold him in a halfwrestling position, and this time there’s no hesitation as Matsukawa’s lips come into contact with Hanamaki’s, no one to stop him from running his hands over Matsukawa’s neck and the small of his back and his hipbones -

Two hours later, they’re lying on the floor, panting, and there’s still cake and cream and crumbs all over the place. _Everywhere_. Hanamaki’s entire being feels like it’s made of sugar.

‘I can’t believe this,’ Hanamaki says, again, but this time he means it in a different way from before. Next to him, Matsukawa’s idly picking crumbs from Hanamaki’s hair, which is really gross and gay and, okay, Hanamaki’s feeling all warm and happy and he’s definitely going to get up and clean up and in a moment’s time.

 _Soon_ , he thinks. Just a little while more.

 

**Author's Note:**

> the prize for the nerdiest and weirdest fic in the history of fanfiction goes to

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Falling Slow in Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7898371) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account)




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